


Engraved

by sori



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2005-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sori/pseuds/sori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rubbing the tags between his fingers, Jack realizes that this is something entirely different. Too much, too different, too right in a way that is disturbingly wrong. Tags with Daniel’s name should not be familiar - not ever - but they are, and Jack’s not sure he likes what that says about the Stargate program, his life and their future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engraved

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a vice-versa challenge long, long ago. Thanks to spikedluv for last minute beta duties!

It’s well into the morning before Jack even notices. It starts with a sharp tug on his chest hair when he leans back in his chair, continues with an itch on his chest that he can’t seem to scratch. By 1000 hours, he’s irritated enough that he spins his chair around, reaches into his shirt, and pulls out his dog tags to discover the name _Jackson, Daniel_ etched into the metal.

Jack vaguely remembers stumbling out of bed this morning and stubbing his toe on Daniel’s bedside table before staggering into the shower for a quick shave. He was late, even later by the time he had bolted out of the bathroom to discover the pile of tags on the dresser. Two sets wrapped around each other from end to end, nestled and cuddled and so tightly knotted that by the time Jack got one set to bounce free, he didn’t care whose name was on the tags as long as there was a set around his neck.

Being the General comes with a few perks and being late is definitely one. But there’s late and then there’s _late_ and Jack was pushing the latter this morning. He had jumped in his car, sped to the mountain and changed into his uniform without bothering to check more than the basics. He could feel his wallet in his pants, a chain around his neck, the eyeglasses he won’t admit to in his pocket. Nothing else really mattered as he strolled into his own meeting 30 minutes past the start time.

Now, the meeting is long over, interesting distractions long gone. Jack is sitting at his desk, facing a mountain of paperwork wearing dog tags that are apparently not his. He softly touches the faceplate, noticing that there’s not much difference between Jack’s name and Daniel’s name on the metal. Almost the same length, and the bumps are generally similar, yet there’s something slightly disturbing about seeing Daniel’s name on military identification tags. Daniel’s proficiency with weapons is expected after years of off-world missions and near misses, he’s learned the hard way to obey most orders without asking too many questions and he could teach a class on military protocol. But this –

Rubbing the tags between his fingers, Jack realizes that _this_ is something entirely different. Too much, too different, too _right_ in a way that is disturbingly wrong. Tags with Daniel’s name should not be familiar - not ever - but they are, and Jack’s not sure he likes what that says about the Stargate program, his life and their future.

He drops the tags and picks up his pen, stares longingly at the phone for a minute before deciding the morning is wasted. Tossing his pen, he stands, rubbing his hand through his hair and shaking his head. More paperwork than ever and he knows it’s important but there’s ten teams offworld, a new enemy on PX7-858 and three gadgets sitting in Carter’s lab that could be important. Paperwork seems boring, requisitions and evaluation reports mind-numbing.

The coffee’s always hot in the cafeteria and maybe a cup or two along with a quick trip by Daniel’s lab will gear him up for the rest of the day. He needs to exchange the tags since they’re distracting him in ways that he doesn’t even want to examine. It doesn’t help that every time he closes his eyes he imagines the outline of Daniel’s body in the shower, skin glistening, dog tags swaying.

Definitely distracting.

* * *

“Hey.” Jack strolls into Daniel’s office, one hand in his pocket, the other hand holding a steaming mug of coffee. He nods his head at Daniel, a nod Daniel’s too busy to see, and moves around the office, casually, pretending there’s not two inboxes full of paperwork waiting on his desk.

“Jack.” Daniel says, distracted, eyes not lifting from the computer screen that’s flashing a sequence of symbols.

Jack walks close, sets his coffee mug next to Daniel’s hand, leans on the desk with an elbow. “Check your tags today, Daniel?”

“What? Tags?” Daniel finally glances up, eyes exasperated and slightly bloodshot from too many hours in front of the computer. “Jack, I’m busy.”

That quickly, he returns his attention to work, pushing a button on the keyboard, and the symbols start scrolling more quickly. Jacks wonders if he’ll ever be The General to Daniel, then thinks that he’d probably hate that if it did ever happen.

“Daniel. Tags.” Watching the scrolling sequences, he thinks he can pick out a few ancient symbols. “Hey. Infinity,” he mentions, pointing at a symbol.

“Infinity? Really? Huh.” Daniel grabs a pencil and marks a note in his notebook. Jack clears his throat and drums his fist on the desktop. “What?” Daniel asks, looking at Jack quickly. “What tags?”

Shaking his head, Jack reaches out and tugs on the small bit of silver chain showing above the neck of Daniel’s black uniform shirt. “Tags, Daniel. Check them.”

Daniel sits, watching Jack, waiting for a punch line, because _of course there’s always a punch line_ , until he finally pulls out the tags, lifting them to eye level. “Oh. They’re yours.” Daniel possibly looks a little flushed, his cheeks a bit red, and his eyes have lost their focused edge. Slightly strange in a way that is… sort of cool, Jack realizes. The illusion is shattered when Daniel says, “Okay, yeah,” before turning back to his computer.

“Okay, yeah? Daniel.” Jack leans closer, close enough to smell Daniel, coffee and something else that’s sort of _nice_ in a Daniel kind of way, and grins when Daniel shivers a little. “I need my dog tags back.”

“Now?” And finally, Daniel stops looking at the screen, and pausing the scrolling symbols to look at Jack. Not quite in the eyes, Jack notices, but off over Jack’s shoulder.

“Now would be good.”

“Right.” Daniel straightens the glasses on his nose and glances at Jack’s chest. Jack wonders if he’s imaging dog tags in chest hair because it seems only fair that distraction should go both ways.

“You grabbed the wrong set.” Accusation in Daniel’s tone, and maybe something else there as well, and Jack rolls his eyes.

“They got tangled up. I was late. So sue me. Just…” motioning with his hand, Jack points at Daniels’s chest. “Come on.”

Hands moving toward the chain, Daniel’s about to pull it off over his head, when he stops. Eyes narrowed, he bites his lower lip then turns back to the computer screen. “Tell me again why I’m suddenly wearing dog tags, Jack. I’m not a soldier.”

“Jesus, Daniel. Do we have to have this discussion again?” Jack pushes himself away from the desk, stalking around the room, pausing to look at the writing on the white board by the door. “It’s not just you, Daniel. Everyone that goes off world is now required to wear them. Key word, Daniel – everyone.”

“Yes, Jack. I have a passing familiarity with the word. My question is why. Why do we have to wear them?”

 _Because if we can’t bring back a body, we’re going to at least bring back identification tags_ he wants to say, but can’t; can’t quite bring himself to say those words out loud because luck doesn’t last forever and there’s no reason to play jinx.

“Because. I said so.” Daniel’s only response is a snort. Jack moves, walking behind him and stopping close enough that his stomach is brushing Daniel’s back, close enough that he can feel the heat from Daniel’s body. Leaning down, Jack says, “Daniel, you just do. It’s…”

Daniel turns, his shoulder pushing against Jack, discreetly but giving some measure of comfort that maybe Daniel knows Jack needs. “I know. Sorry.”

Squeezing Daniel’s shoulder, Jack backs away a few steps and leans against a bookcase. “So. Give me my tags.”

Fumbling with a pencil, Daniel reaches up and takes off his glasses, rubs his fingers across his nose. He looks over at Jack and in his eyes Jack can see – well, see just about everything. He remembers this look in Daniel’s eyes from the shower last night and the couch three nights ago and, he realizes with a start, this morning when Daniel had watched him grab the dog tags off the dresser as he hurried out the door.

“Jack, I think we should wait. Exchange them later.” Daniel says, and apparently, the issue is closed because he puts his glasses back on, turns to his computer, pokes a few buttons and starts working. Notes hastily written in a notebook as the symbols flash, a glance or two at a reference book propped up against a desk lamp, and once again, Daniel is oblivious.

“Well, okay.” Jack watches Daniel work for a couple of minutes before turning and walking out the door. He thinks he might have missed something, but he’s not entirely sure.

* * *

It’s quiet in the cafeteria this time of day, and after leaving Daniel’s office another cup of coffee sounds better than two dozen evaluation reports. There’s maybe three soldiers sitting at the tables, and the tang of too-strong coffee lingers in the air, smelling like the headquarters of every military unit he’d ever served. Carter’s sitting off in a corner, eating a sandwich and reading something that looks suspiciously like a smutty historical novel. Too good an opportunity to pass up.

She doesn’t seem to mind when he sits down across from her and starts talking about work. It’s easy conversation and it’s always fun to surprise her with his knowledge of what’s sitting on the bench in her office.

“Anything wrong, General?” Carter’s watching Jack tug on the chain around his neck. Weird he knows, because a twenty-year veteran doesn’t think twice about dog tag chains; doesn’t notice them, except if they're missing, and really doesn’t twirl the chain and rub his finger over the metal plate. Tags are just part of the uniform like a cap or a belt, possibly a weapon. Tags draw attention only when they suddenly become _noticeable_.

“Not a thing.” Jack answers, forcing his fingers to let go of the chain, he leans back in his chair and kicks one leg up over his knee. Relaxed and not much like a General, but Jack’s a soldier first and a General second, and he’s spent too many years perfecting the motions to change overnight.

“You and Pete have plans this weekend?” A safe topic because Carter’s watching Jack like she knows his fingers are itching to pick up the tags again. He can’t help but shake his head when Carter grins at the mention of Pete, all teeth and shining eyes, and it’s a smile that takes Jack back eight years to a geeky young Captain that thought the ripples in the wormhole were cool.

The glint of diamond on her hand draws Jack’s attention. A big diamond, probably bigger than a cop can afford, but it’s simple with no sharp edges, nothing that would interfere with her work. Jack knows she doesn’t wear it off world – probably a smart thing. Instead, she takes it off and puts it carefully in a ring box she keeps in her locker. He’s seen her do this dozens of times while watching SG1 gear-up in the locker room. Sometimes, he still forgets that he doesn’t get to gear-up with them.

He’d bought Sara a tiny engagement ring, so small her mother had teased her about the thing for years. But in those days, a 2LT didn’t make much and to Jack the ring had been a means to an end more than a statement of any sort. It hadn’t been long before he realized that maybe that ring was saying something to Sara that wasn’t entirely accurate. On their third wedding anniversary, he’d bought her a bigger ring. It’d been three days before he shipped out to…somewhere, Central America maybe, possibly Eastern Europe. The missions had started to blend together after the second year.

Jack might not remember the mission but he remembered the look on Sara's face when she’d opened the box and seen the new ring. A ring that somehow wasn’t really _just_ a ring, he’d learned.

Carter’s ring sparkles, fitting exactly on her hand and looking like it belongs _right_ there. Pete picked a perfect ring because even when Carter’s not directly thinking about it, Jack will catch her gazing at the thing like she’s never had the chance to see it before. Maybe she’s wondering what all Pete was saying by buying her a ring that so exactly fits her life. Jack’s not sure, but it’s undoubtedly good.

And it’s _that_ – the way she keeps looking at that ring – that makes Jack long for all the things he’s never going to have again. The obvious trappings, the noticeable markers, that small thrill at seeing someone else’s feelings engraved into something real. He can’t quite bring himself to regret the choices that brought him here, because regret’s useless, can’t change the past, but still, he can feel that want inside. If he’s honest, maybe it feels a bit like need, too.

Picking up the chain from around his neck, he lets he fingers run over the smooth metal. It’s far smoother than the plate on his own tags, black silencers still pristine and unmarred. Civilian SGC personnel have only been required to wear the tags for four months and Daniel’s haven’t yet had time to be worn down. Carter’s still talking, telling a story involving Pete, a drug dealer and an old woman with a bat. He stares at her and tries to pretend that he’s listening. Even if he doesn’t care exactly what she’s saying, he’s still smiling. Because this is Carter and she’s happy and he’s thinking of impossible things that don’t always seem entirely impossible. All in all, good things to think about.

Better than paperwork at any rate.

* * *

They don’t even get two steps through the door before Daniel’s pushing him up against the wall. Tongue in his mouth, teeth biting at his lip, hands everywhere – fuck, _everywhere_ – all at once: under his shirt, at the buttons of his pants, in his hair, on his back.

He takes the kiss, the feel of Daniel pressed against his body, the taste of his mouth, the slick slide of tongue. It’s sloppy and sort of raw and without any of Daniel’s usual finesse. Jack grins around the kiss before pushing back, spinning them both around. Shoving Daniel’s jacket off his shoulder, Jack shakes the fabric roughly, encouraging Daniel to move enough that it slides down his arms and puddles on the floor.

Fingers buried deep in Daniel’s hair, Jack starts to move them back toward the bedroom. Thirty steps, maybe forty and they’re tumbling onto the bed, half-dressed.

Daniel’s beneath him, all bones and hard muscles, and Jack moans when Daniel grabs his hands, raising them both up over their heads. Holding his arms still, thrusting with his hips, his lips trail across Daniel’s cheek, down his neck, to suck a mark onto Daniel’s neck. Warm and spicy and smelling a bit like coffee, Jack bites at the taste, worrying skin between his teeth. Daniel arches up off the bed, body almost toppling Jack, and Jack bites down harder, leaving a mark, _meaning_ to leave a mark.

Shoving hard, Daniel pushes Jack up and off the bed. Moving until they’re both on their feet, Daniel quickly pulls off the rest of his clothes. “Clothes. Off.” Not even complete sentences, Jack notices, and even after so long, that’s still a sweet kind of victory.

He watches as Daniel unbuckles his belt, and starts pulling down his boxers. Jack shrugs when Daniel looks at him, a question in his eyes. _What’s taking you so long?_ , he can almost hear, because Daniel is patient almost everywhere except in the bedroom. Jack starts undressing, never taking his eyes away from Daniel -- long legs, hard dick, tags swinging against his chest.

As soon as Jack kicks his boxers off, Daniel tackles him, shoves him down on the bed and climbs on top. Rubs his body against Jack, hard and a little rough and, _fuck_ , that feels just perfect. He still has Daniel’s tags on, he only occasionally remembers to take his tags off in bed, but Daniel, Daniel usually takes everything off: tags and watches and socks. Maybe he’s forgotten this time because the dog tags are dangling, brushing against Jack’s chest and Jack can see his own name, right there, engraved on the metal, hanging around Daniel’s neck.

He groans and pushes his hips up. Reaching up, he winds his fingers through Daniel’s hair, pulls him down hard, until he can feel the metal faceplates of both sets of dog tags pushing into his skin. Just hard enough that he thinks they’ll leave a mark, right there on his chest, skin indents that won’t last for long but will still _be there_. He licks into Daniel’s mouth, fast, tasting the corners of Daniel’s mouth

He winds his fingers through the chain, brushing Daniel’s chest, holding on tight. Daniel moves to take the tags off and Jack stops his hand, saying, “Leave them.” Clears his throat and he wonders if that’s his voice, hoarse and unfamiliar and saying things he doesn’t necessarily want to admit.

Daniel blinks down at him, smiles slow and sort of sweet, before sweet gives way to something else as Daniel leans down to bite at his collarbone. He doesn’t kiss down Jack’s chest, just winds his fingers through Jack’s hair, rolls them both to their sides and reaches down with his other hand. Takes both of them in a tight fist – thank God for big hands – and starts a smooth tug and pull. Long stroke up, quick stroke down and Jack groans, watching Daniel’s eyes.

It’s quick and a little rough with Daniel’s hand moving fast between their bodies, Jack’s fingers still wound through the dog tag chain, holding tight and not letting go, forcing Daniel’s head closer and closer. They’re not kissing, instead, they’re both watching Jack’s fist wrapping tighter around the chain, pulling Daniel near until Jack has to fight to keep his eyes from closing as he gets closer to the edge.

Leaning in, Daniel whispers, “Jack…yes...” before his hand tightens and his pace quickens. “Fuck.” So quietly and Jack can just hear Daniel’s voice, can just feel Daniel’s breath against his ear.

He groans low and deep, pulling Daniel closer, until their foreheads touch, trapping Jack's hand between their bodies in the winding length of chain. He comes with Daniel’s name on his lips and Daniel’s voice in his ear.

Later, they get up, order pizza and sit in front of the television watching a show that Jack’s never seen. They drink soda and some water and when the sun has disappeared against the night sky, they undress and slip into bed. Jack’s hand reaches for Daniel and somehow, instead, closes on the chain that Daniel still wears around his neck. Jack’s name engraved on the metal, resting against Daniel’s chest, comfortable and familiar, and looking not so out of place.

Daniel smiles and wraps his fingers around Jack’s, letting their hands slide together and their bodies press close, touching easily, like a promise already made.


End file.
